


two dragons talk about asexuality

by cloudycats



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Fluff, Gen, No Inheritance Cycle Knowledge Required, asexual Oromis, asexual Saphira, asexual dragon, literally nothing but affirmation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudycats/pseuds/cloudycats
Summary: (Two dragons talk about asexuality with the survival of their species on the line. No understanding of the Inheritance Cycle canon required.)“There's something wrong with me,”says Saphira.“There is not,”says Glaedr.“You are a little bit unusual in this one aspect, but there is nothing wrong with you.  You are not broken in any way.  You are not any less of a dragon now than you were an hour ago.”
Relationships: Saphira (Inheritance Cycle) & Glaedr
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. two dragons talk about asexuality

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: one panic attack
> 
> if you have a hard time reading tons of italics, Chapter 2 is the story with all the dialogue non-italicized.
> 
> the writer is ace, so i can't vouch for how accurate the portrayal of allosexuality (non-asexuality) is in this fic. if something's wrong, please let me know!
> 
> if you're coming here without knowledge of the Inheritance Cycle, you should (i hope) be able to pick up everything alright without any background knowledge. but if you'd like background regardless, here's everything relevant: Saphira the blue dragon and her Rider/mind-linked partner, Eragon, are in the elvish homeland training under Glaedr the gold dragon and his partner Oromis. Eragon, Oromis, and the big bad are the only remaining Riders, and the dragons are extinct aside from the three attached to those Riders (Saphira, Glaedr, and the big bad's male black dragon), plus two unhatched eggs who are both also confirmed to be male. Saphira, who is about a year old, is the last female dragon.
> 
> also Brom was a former Rider whose dragon (Saphira's namesake) died a long, long time ago. Brom himself died after teaching Eragon and Saphira the very basics of Riderhood.

The conversation begins innocently enough. Saphira is responding to a question from Glaedr when she spots a thin dark line breaking the silver of the lake waters below. A fish, its back briefly cresting the surface.

She swoops for it and returns not long after with a great grey pike in her talons, which she digs into on the wing. She did not break off her sentence when she dove, and she is quite certain she responded correctly, so she is not sure why Glaedr, rather than confirming or denying her answer, instead says with distinct fondness, _Feral child._

 _I thought you didn't like fish,_ says Saphira uncertainly, pausing mid-bite. There is still most of it left. She offers him the remainder, but he shakes his head.

 _It's yours. Too many spines for this old dragon,_ says Glaedr. There _are_ rather a lot. _Did the humans not teach you that it's rude to split your attention from a conversation?_

Saphira blinks. _Eragon and I always talk while we're doing other things._

 _Eragon is also a feral child,_ says Glaedr dryly. Saphira bristles involuntarily, even knowing her teacher wouldn't speak unkindly of her Rider without purpose, a reaction which seems to amuse Glaedr more than anything else. _Come now, it's true. Put that pride aside long enough to see what I mean. Brom was a good Rider, a man of courage and principle, let no one deny it, but when he was a student Oromis caught him on four separate occasions digging for raccoons in the trash in the dead of winter. Any Rider taught by him could not help but come out a little strange. I don't say it to cause offense._

_...Why specifically in winter?_

_He worried they would be cold and wanted to capture them in his room until spring,_ says Glaedr. _I don't believe he ever stopped doing it. He only switched to magic instead of keeping on with his bare hands._

Glaedr is quiet for a bit. They leave the lake behind, passing over the sea of trees once more. In the lull, Saphira pictures Brom – a younger, more Eragon-shaped Brom (as Eragon is her only real reference for human young) – diving head-first into a pile of trash and emerging with a smelly rodent held hissing in his hands. Rather like fishing, she thinks, and snaps the last scrap of tail out of her claws.

She misses him.

Glaedr says, _Eragon has Oromis to teach him a Rider's etiquette. You have me, to teach you our history and our abilities, but I wonder if I should teach you our etiquette at all._

 _I want to know,_ says Saphira. _I_ _feel like an ignorant child next to you. You know so much more than I'll ever have the time to learn._

 _You_ are _ignorant, and a child. There is nothing wrong with either of those things. If I could, I would let you remain so for many years more,_ says Glaedr.

 _I want to learn,_ Saphira insists.

Glaedr snorts. _Even the useless parts? I can teach you which part of the deer to eat first, if you like, and how often you're allowed to flap your wings during a glide before other dragons start giving you funny looks. Would you like to know how to position yourself in a flock? I can tell you now that, as a spry young student flying beside her elderly teacher, you should remain ahead to break the wind for me._

Guilt and surprise burn white-hot through her. _Why did you not say anything? I didn't –_ she begins, already flapping to move in front of him.

Glaedr snaps at her lightly, without urgency. His teeth close nowhere near her, but she recognizes the interruption for what it is and falls back beside him. _I didn't speak up because there was no need,_ says Glaedr. _Dragons don't grow weaker with age, only lazier. I fly well enough without assistance, don't I? Though it speaks well of you that you tried to help as soon as I told you. No, there's really no need. There is no one for you to perform for. There are only four people in the world who might judge you for splashing water when you drink, and I promise you I do not mind, Oromis will keep his opinion to himself, and if either Shruikan or Galbatorix cares then they have only themselves to blame._

 _That's why you drink the way you do,_ Saphira realizes.

 _Quite so,_ says Glaedr.

It's an oddity that Saphira has noticed in passing: Glaedr keeps his muzzle below his nostrils submerged until he has entirely finished his drink. Saphira herself always throws her head back out of the water a little to swallow more easily, soaking her neck and the ground around her front claws in the process. It doubles as a rudimentary shower. Eragon is often too busy to help her clean, and she cannot bathe on her own without a body of water deep enough to submerge herself in, so she has learned tricks to make do.

_Should I start drinking like you?_

_Why would you want to? It's habit for me, but I'll not lie: it's terribly uncomfortable compared to your way._

_I'm a dragon, aren't I? I should behave like one._

Glaedr casts her a side-long glance. _A_ _nd where did you pick up that lovely piece of advice from?_

Saphira splutters. _It's – it's obvious, isn't it? I_ am _a dragon_.

 _You are indeed,_ says Glaedr, nodding agreeably. _While we are on the topic, Saphira, have you ever noticed Eragon acting unhuman-like? I've certainly noticed. When he walks, he hardly swings his arms. A little inch forwards, a little inch back. It's very reminiscent of how dwarfs walk. Why, he's so dwarfish that sometimes I can't bring myself to think of him as human at all._

 _That's not the same in any way,_ says Saphira immediately. A low rumble builds in her chest. _You're making fun of me. His family was human. He was raised by humans. He knows how humans act._

 _Do you suppose that's something he thinks about often? When he raises an arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, does he think to himself,_ This is how I, as a human, should raise my arm to keep my human sweat from dripping into my human eyes, just as I have seen other humans do all my human life _?_

Before Saphira can muster a response to that ridiculousness, Glaedr continues, _Do you suppose he ever looks up at you in the sky and thinks to himself,_ My, how undragon-like Saphira looks all the way up there, with her magnificent wings spread wide to catch the wind and her dazzling blue scales sparkling bright as any gemstone under the sun _? You are the only dragon he has ever known. Anything you ever do will be the quintessential example of dragonhood to him, and to any of the many peoples you will meet in your vastly long life. I am a relic. Pay my antiquated customs no mind._

 _What about when there are more of us?_ Saphira demands. The noise has built to an audible growl. _Why would you have me abandon our culture? We will not be the only dragons forever._

 _Won't we?_ Glaedr asks, and even though mind-speech doesn't variate in volume he gives off the impression of talking more quietly.

Saphira's growl subsides. _What do you mean?_

Glaedr does not speak for a long moment. Something which might be anticipation and might be dread wraps its claws tights around Saphira's ribs. Frustrated, she flaps her wings a few times, using the movement to distract herself from her tangled thoughts; and then she remembers what Glaedr said about flapping while gliding and hurriedly levels out again. The feeling constricts tighter inside her.

Finally Glaedr says, _This is very forward me, and I apologize in advance, but I believe this is a subject that you should have a chance to speak of openly without fear of recrimination. It need not be now, of course. Feel free to ignore me as you please if you would prefer not to think on it, and then to bring it up at any point if you should ever feel ready. But understand that this will inevitably come up in the future. At some point, someone will demand an answer of you. You will not owe them that answer. You will never owe any soul any answer to this question, and, yes, of course that includes me. But even if you should change your answer many times in the future, which would be your right, knowing in the moment what it is might be helpful to you._

She has already guessed what the question is. All her muscles have tensed, readying for the blow.

 _Saphira,_ says Glaedr, _do you actually want to have children?_

 _Of course I do,_ says Saphira, and her voice is perfectly, perfectly steady even though she cannot _breathe_ through the tightness in her chest. Without air inside her, she begins to drop, and stubbornly, despite the burning, she flaps to remain level.

_Saphira?_

She barely hears his concern beneath the ocean rushing through her ears. _Of course I want children. I am the only female dragon remaining in Alagaësia. Once the last two eggs hatch, there will be five dragons in Alagaësia, and that is very many dragons, but it is not enough, and some day we will all die like Brom and his Saphira did and there will no more of us left, and no more Riders, and all the humans like Eragon will grow up never having seen a dragon, never knowing that we were once their friends who lived alongside them –  
_

Glaedr roars, and the volume of it so close to her shocks Saphira back to herself. She can't see him anymore. There are too many shadows crowding in around her vision. She _can't breathe_. She almost opens the Rider link back up, almost cries for Eragon, but shame holds her back – he cannot know about this, she cannot let him know about her weakness.

She can barely feel the air rushing past, but the vertigo is inside of her, unmistakable, and she knows that she is falling. It does not matter that she has wings, that she is beating them furiously; she cannot fly as she is.

Glaedr catches her from below. She falls heavily onto his back, and he starts dropping too, unable to stay aloft under the weight of another dragon. She can't bring them both down, she thinks. She should at least jump away. But instead she huddles up close to the warmth and weight of another like her, trembling uselessly.

Glaedr manages to break their crash with a river. He pushes Saphira onto the shore, where she immediately digs her claws into the ground and curls into a ball, and then he fans her dry by spitting out thin flames that disperse into hot air when he wafts them towards her with a wing.

 _Are you alright?_ he asks.

It's hard to think, but eventually a word coalesces. _Sorry._

 _You don't need to do that,_ he says, lying down beside her. He spreads a wing over her like she sometimes did for Eragon at night, back when they slept under the stars together. _You did nothing wrong._

_I don't know what happened._

_The bodies of living creatures sometimes do things we don't understand without consulting us. Useful things, our bodies, but you can't always trust them,_ says Glaedr, thrumming. It's the gentlest sound a dragon can vocalize. Saphira feels it in her bones. _But for this, I think, I can explain. Have you noticed that the prey you catch will react differently to you based off of the individual? There are three routes they will choose from: they might try to claw back at you, or they might try to run, or they might stand still, frozen with terror and indecision. It's a generalization, but most things are. What happened to you just now was that. You were scared, and you did not know what to do, so you froze. It was not in any way your fault._

 _I wasn't scared,_ says Saphira, but without heat. She feels tired and wrung-out despite having done nothing at all. _T_ _here was nothing to be scared of._

 _Poor thing,_ says Glaedr with a great sigh. _You've let it fester. Is there no one you believe you can talk to? Your Rider?_

 _No!_ Saphira raises her head off her claws. _Don't tell him!_

 _I would never,_ says Glaedr. _There's a reason I had you clamp down on your link with him before we left. Well, the reason was not this specifically, but it's proving convenient now. Can I ask why you don't trust him with this?_

 _Of course I trust_ _him._

_I worded that poorly. I should have asked why you would rather not share this part of yourself with him._

_I don't know._

_That's alright,_ says Glaedr. _It's alright that you don't know._

He does not say anything more. Eventually Saphira cannot stand the silence of her own thoughts and speaks up. _Why would I have been frightened? All that happened was that you asked me if... if I...._

After a pause Glaedr says, _We needn't talk about it if it's upsetting._

 _I want to understand,_ says Saphira. _If it happened for something like that, just because we were talking, then it could happen at any time. If I fall in the middle of battle, or when Eragon needs to be strong for him, I could never live with myself._

 _There are so many things,_ says Glaedr, _that should never have been your burden to bear._

 _But they are,_ says Saphira.

_But they are. You could share with them your Rider if you wished, but you have your reasons for choosing not to. Relax; I will not press._

_Why did you ask me if I wanted children?_ Saphira says. _Did I do something to make you think that I...._

Glaedr cocks his head. _I should ask Oromis for permission first. The answer involves him. If he says no, it will be more difficult for me to explain, but he shouldn't have any reason to refuse this._

_Oromis noticed?_

_I doubt it,_ says Glaedr. _He hasn't spent as much time with you, and he doesn't notice these things. You'll see what I mean, I hope. A moment._

Glaedr's Rider's agreement comes quickly enough. Glaedr gives a satisfied nod and then turns back to Saphira. _You're bonded to Eragon, so I expect you've noticed how he is around Arya._

This line of discussion is neither what Saphira expected nor what she ever wants to hear spoken of. She hunches in on herself a little more.

Glaedr looks sympathetic. _Ah, you have. Well then, do you know what Eragon desires from her? Aside from her love and undivided attention._

 _Her body,_ says Saphira sullenly. Those are not dreams she likes sharing with Eragon.

 _A mercenary descriptor, but not inaccurate at its core. Yes, he wants her body. He finds her physical features pleasing, and so he wishes to bed her. It is not likely to happen, but a boy can dream,_ says Glaedr. _What's important for you to know is that his feelings concerning her are very, very normal. Not only for humans, but for elves, for dwarfs, for most of the creatures in the world, and for dragons too._

That shocks Saphira partway out of her dark mood. You _want to bed Arya too?_

Glaedr snorts, and then he starts laughing, his body shaking with the force of it. Saphira fails to see what's funny about this. She glowers at him for the entire solid minute he spends laughing. _No, no, I don't want to bed Arya. That is an Eragon-specific trait, as far as this discussion is concerned._ Oh, good. _But I have, in the past, wished to bed dragons I found attractive. Sometimes I imagined doing so even when I knew it would be unlikely to happen in reality._

 _Why would you_ do _that?_

 _Because I enjoy it,_ says Glaedr easily. _Generally, the act of... bedding is an entertaining one. Imagining it is less so, but it can also be pleasing in its own way._

Saphira will eat an entire deer raw and unbutchered down to its hooves, but certain bodily interactions are still too unsettling to ponder. She hunkers her head down under her wings, adding another layer of shelter above her, and tries not to picture any of this.

 _But exceptions exist, as they do with all rules. The first one I ever learned of was Oromis. We learned together, to be honest. It was unexpected for the both of us. No one ever really expects to to be an exception,_ says Glaedr. _Oromis enjoys the act as much as anyone else, but he does not find people attractive. He has never once looked upon another person and thought to himself that he wanted to bed this one in particular. He's very much like you, Saphira._

Something about that is oddly reassuring, though Saphira still feels unsettled. _How would you know that for certain? I've never met another dragon._

 _I don't know for certain,_ says Glaedr. _It could be that I'm wrong. It is only that something in your mannerisms does remind me of him in that way._

 _You're a little bit wrong,_ says Saphira, peeking an eye out from under her wings.

 _My apologies,_ says Glaedr gently. _Not only do you not find people attractive, but you also don't enjoy the thought of the act at all, do you?_

Saphira shakes her head.

_Please don't answer this if it upsets you, but I'd like to ask you something. If I gave to you an egg one day, and told you that it was yours to hatch and raise, would you immediately pass it back to me?_

Saphira considers that warily, but there's no distress after all at the thought of a tiny blue dragon playing jumping games across her talons. _No._

_Can you see yourself laying that same egg?_

Saphira begins to, feels the crest of emotion rising up again and instantly stomps the image down. She buries herself under her wings again. _No. Never._

 _And there is nothing wrong with that,_ says Glaedr with infectious calm. Saphira tries to time her breathing to his. _Thank you for answering. That's all I wanted to ask._

 _There's something wrong with me,_ says Saphira.

 _There is not,_ says Glaedr. _You are a little bit unusual in this one aspect, but there is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken in any way. You are not any less of a dragon now than you were an hour ago._

 _I_ have _to lay eggs._

 _You do not,_ says Glaedr. _Even were you a female dragon who enjoyed bedding male dragons, you would have no obligation to ever lay a single egg against your wishes. Anyone who ever attempts to tell you otherwise is wrong. You may step on them if you like; I am sure no one will miss them._

 _But...._ Not even an objection, merely an inability to agree.

Glaedr begins thrumming again. _Saphira, who has told you that you must lay eggs?_

 _I don't know,_ says Saphira. She truly does not, but it is still an idea that has lodged itself somehow into her sense of self. She is the last female dragon, and so the survival of her species depends upon her. She _must_ lay eggs.

_Were they dragons?_

This she can answer with certainty. _No._

_Then they have no stake in this, and you may disregard them for that reason._

You _are a dragon, Glaedr. This affects you._

_Saphira, am I you?_

She shakes her head.

_Then if I ever tell you that you must lay an egg, you may disregard me because my stake in this is not half as large as yours. You would also have blanket permission in that scenario to beat me about the head until I came to my senses._

_But you do want me to lay an egg, even if you'll never tell me that I have to._

Glaedr heaves another great sigh. _S_ _aphira. I do not care if you lay an egg or not. If you do, I will be happy for you, I will congratulate you, I will welcome each of your children into this world as cherished family regardless of who you chose to father them. And if you do not, I will be happy for you, and I will congratulate you for having gained a better understanding of where your own happiness lies._

_You don't care if the dragons return?_

_The dragons are dead,_ states Glaedr flatly. Saphira is quiet. _Four or five individuals, among whom one is a female,_ cannot _revive a species. It cannot and should not be done. There will never again be dragons in Alagaësia no matter how or when or if the war ends. And, Saphira, hear me – even if, by becoming a mother, you could single-handedly save us all, you would_ still _be under no obligation to do so. If you did, you would be a hero, even moreso considering your particular feelings towards the matter. But if you did not then you would still be a person, and we do not punish people for not being heroes._

_Saphira, do you know the tale of Gallion and the storm?_

Glaedr tells it to her. It's rather long and winding, but the subplots are all individually exciting and action-packed, and Glaedr clearly has practice in telling it. It is, in its essence, about a flock of dragons led by a black dragon named Gallion. After their homeland is destroyed by a fire mountain's eruption, Gallion leads her flock on many harrowing adventures in search of a new place to call home. At the end, when they finally discover the perfect land, a great storm threatens to destroy it. Gallion flies into the storm alone even as her people try to stop her. She burns the clouds away with her fire, but in the process is struck by lightning and falls onto a mountain's peak, which impales her through the heart.

It's a terribly sad ending and it comes out of absolutely nowhere. Saphira is indignant. _What was the storm for? They'd already won! The happy ending was right there!_

 _Be that as it may,_ says Glaedr, clearly entertained by her reaction. _Would you have faulted Gallion if, instead of facing off against the storm, she agreed with her people to abandon that land and continue the search?_

Saphira is reminded that there was a point to Glaedr's telling the story. She's long since crept out from beneath her own wings and poked her head out from under Glaedr's wing, but now she retreats like a turtle back into Glaedr's golden shadow. _I am not Gallion._

 _I am merely asking,_ says Glaedr innocently. _I never said you were._

Saphira chooses not to dignify this with a response.

 _Let us pretend the story goes down a different path,_ says Glaedr. _Instead of Gallion insisting that she sacrifice herself against the storm and her people urging her not to, let us say that her people are the ones insisting that she battle the storm. In this version, Gallion attempts to refuse, for the quite understandable reason of not wishing to die, but she is swayed by all the voices arrayed against her. She flies reluctantly into the storm. She dies there, just as she did before, but now it is for the happiness of a flock who sent her alone into danger while they hid behind in safety._

 _That's awful,_ says Saphira reluctantly. She knows what Glaedr is leading her towards, but that version of the story is legitimately awful. Gallion deserves better after all she went through to get them there.

 _It is, isn't it,_ says Glaedr.

Saphira blows out a shuddering breath. _It's really fine if I don't...?_

 _Of course,_ says Glaedr.

 _And,_ says Saphira, _even if I change my mind and say I do want eggs, and then a day later I change my mind again and tell you that I don't?_ She asks this even though she knows now that the day will never come when she wants to go through the process of laying eggs of her own.

_I will be honest, I would likely be confused. But as long as you understand your own reasons I will support you._

Saphira says, in as close to a whisper as mind-speech can come, _Alright._

And, for now, things are.


	2. two dragons talk about asexuality: now with 99% fewer italics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly the same content as chapter 1, but all the dialogue is non-italicized.

The conversation begins innocently enough. Saphira is responding to a question from Glaedr when she spots a thin dark line breaking the silver of the lake waters below. A fish, its back briefly cresting the surface.

She swoops for it and returns not long after with a great grey pike in her talons, which she digs into on the wing. She did not break off her sentence when she dove, and she is quite certain she responded correctly, so she is not sure why Glaedr, rather than confirming or denying her answer, instead says with distinct fondness, “Feral child.”

“I thought you didn't like fish,” says Saphira uncertainly, pausing mid-bite. There is still most of it left. She offers him the remainder, but he shakes his head.

“It's yours. Too many spines for this old dragon,” says Glaedr. There _are_ rather a lot. “Did the humans not teach you that it's rude to split your attention from a conversation?”

Saphira blinks. “Eragon and I always talk while we're doing other things.”

“Eragon is also a feral child,” says Glaedr dryly. Saphira bristles involuntarily, even knowing her teacher wouldn't speak unkindly of her Rider without purpose, a reaction which seems to amuse Glaedr more than anything else. “Come now, it's true. Put that pride aside long enough to see what I mean. Brom was a good Rider, a man of courage and principle, let no one deny it, but when he was a student Oromis caught him on four separate occasions digging for raccoons in the trash in the dead of winter. Any Rider taught by him could not help but come out a little strange. I don't say it to cause offense.”

“...Why specifically in winter?”

“He worried they would be cold and wanted to capture them in his room until spring," says Glaedr. "I don't believe he ever stopped doing it. He only switched to magic instead of keeping on with his bare hands.”

Glaedr is quiet for a bit. They leave the lake behind, passing over the sea of trees once more. In the lull, Saphira pictures Brom – a younger, more Eragon-shaped Brom (as Eragon is her only real reference for human young) – diving head-first into a pile of trash and emerging with a smelly rodent held hissing in his hands. Rather like fishing, she thinks, and snaps the last scrap of tail out of her claws.

She misses him.

Glaedr says, “Eragon has Oromis to teach him a Rider's etiquette. You have me, to teach you our history and our abilities, but I wonder if I should teach you our etiquette at all.”

“I want to know,” says Saphira. “I feel like an ignorant child next to you. You know so much more than I'll ever have the time to learn.”

“You _are_ ignorant, and a child. There is nothing wrong with either of those things. If I could, I would let you remain so for many years more,” says Glaedr.

“I want to learn,” Saphira insists.

Glaedr snorts. “Even the useless parts? I can teach you which part of the deer to eat first, if you like, and how often you're allowed to flap your wings during a glide before other dragons start giving you funny looks. Would you like to know how to position yourself in a flock? I can tell you now that, as a spry young student flying beside her elderly teacher, you should remain ahead to break the wind for me.”

Guilt and surprise burn white-hot through her. “Why did you not say anything? I didn't – ” she begins, already flapping to move in front of him.

Glaedr snaps at her lightly, without urgency. His teeth close nowhere near her, but she recognizes the interruption for what it is and falls back beside him. “I didn't speak up because there was no need,” says Glaedr. “Dragons don't grow weaker with age, only lazier. I fly well enough without assistance, don't I? Though it speaks well of you that you tried to help as soon as I told you. No, there's really no need. There is no one for you to perform for. There are only four people in the world who might judge you for splashing water when you drink, and I promise you I do not mind, Oromis will keep his opinion to himself, and if either Shruikan or Galbatorix cares then they have only themselves to blame.”

“That's why you drink the way you do,” Saphira realizes.

“Quite so,” says Glaedr.

It's an oddity that Saphira has noticed in passing: Glaedr keeps his muzzle below his nostrils submerged until he has entirely finished his drink. Saphira herself always throws her head back out of the water a little to swallow more easily, soaking her neck and the ground around her front claws in the process. It doubles as a rudimentary shower. Eragon is often too busy to help her clean, and she cannot bathe on her own without a body of water deep enough to submerge herself in, so she has learned tricks to make do.

“Should I start drinking like you?”

“Why would you want to? It's habit for me, but I'll not lie: it's terribly uncomfortable compared to your way.”

“I'm a dragon, aren't I? I should behave like one.”

Glaedr casts her a side-long glance. “And where did you pick up that lovely piece of advice from?”

Saphira splutters. “It's – it's obvious, isn't it? I _am_ a dragon.”

“You are indeed,” says Glaedr, nodding agreeably. “While we are on the topic, Saphira, have you ever noticed Eragon acting unhuman-like? I've certainly noticed. When he walks, he hardly swings his arms. A little inch forwards, a little inch back. It's very reminiscent of how dwarfs walk. Why, he's so dwarfish that sometimes I can't bring myself to think of him as human at all.”

“That's not the same in any way,” says Saphira immediately. A low rumble builds in her chest. “You're making fun of me. His family was human. He was raised by humans. He knows how humans act.”

“Do you suppose that's something he thinks about often? When he raises an arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, does he think to himself, ‘This is how I, as a human, should raise my arm to keep my human sweat from dripping into my human eyes, just as I have seen other humans do all my human life’?”

Before Saphira can muster a response to that ridiculousness, Glaedr continues, “Do you suppose he ever looks up at you in the sky and thinks to himself, ‘My, how undragon-like Saphira looks all the way up there, with her magnificent wings spread wide to catch the wind and her dazzling blue scales sparkling bright as any gemstone under the sun’? You are the only dragon he has ever known. Anything you ever do will be the quintessential example of dragonhood to him, and to any of the many peoples you will meet in your vastly long life. I am a relic. Pay my antiquated customs no mind.”

“What about when there are more of us?” Saphira demands. The noise has built to an audible growl. “Why would you have me abandon our culture? We will not be the only dragons forever.”

“Won't we?” Glaedr asks, and even though mind-speech doesn't variate in volume he gives off the impression of talking more quietly.

Saphira's growl subsides. “What do you mean?”

Glaedr does not speak for a long moment. Something which might be anticipation and might be dread wraps its claws tights around Saphira's ribs. Frustrated, she flaps her wings a few times, using the movement to distract herself from her tangled thoughts; and then she remembers what Glaedr said about flapping while gliding and hurriedly levels out again. The feeling constricts tighter inside her.

Finally Glaedr says, “This is very forward me, and I apologize in advance, but I believe this is a subject that you should have a chance to speak of openly without fear of recrimination. It need not be now, of course. Feel free to ignore me as you please if you would prefer not to think on it, and then to bring it up at any point if you should ever feel ready. But understand that this will inevitably come up in the future. At some point, someone will demand an answer of you. You will not owe them that answer. You will never owe any soul any answer to this question, and, yes, of course that includes me. But even if you should change your answer many times in the future, which would be your right, knowing in the moment what it is might be helpful to you.”

She has already guessed what the question is. All her muscles have tensed, readying for the blow.

“Saphira,” says Glaedr, “do you actually want to have children?”

“Of course I do,” says Saphira, and her voice is perfectly, perfectly steady even though she cannot _breathe_ through the tightness in her chest. Without air inside her, she begins to drop, and stubbornly, despite the burning, she flaps to remain level.

“Saphira?”

She barely hears his concern beneath the ocean rushing through her ears. “Of course I want children. I am the only female dragon remaining in Alagaësia. Once the last two eggs hatch, there will be five dragons in Alagaësia, and that is very many dragons, but it is not enough, and some day we will all die like Brom and his Saphira did and there will no more of us left, and no more Riders, and all the humans like Eragon will grow up never having seen a dragon, never knowing that we were once their friends who lived alongside them – ”

Glaedr roars, and the volume of it so close to her shocks Saphira back to herself. She can't see him anymore. There are too many shadows crowding in around her vision. She _can't breathe_. She almost opens the Rider link back up, almost cries for Eragon, but shame holds her back – he cannot know about this, she cannot let him know about her weakness.

She can barely feel the air rushing past, but the vertigo is inside of her, unmistakable, and she knows that she is falling. It does not matter that she has wings, that she is beating them furiously; she cannot fly as she is.

Glaedr catches her from below. She falls heavily onto his back, and he starts dropping too, unable to stay aloft under the weight of another dragon. She can't bring them both down, she thinks. She should at least jump away. But instead she huddles up close to the warmth and weight of another like her, trembling uselessly.

Glaedr manages to break their crash with a river. He pushes Saphira onto the shore, where she immediately digs her claws into the ground and curls into a ball, and then he fans her dry by spitting out thin flames that disperse into hot air when he wafts them towards her with a wing.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

It's hard to think, but eventually a word coalesces. “Sorry.”

“You don't need to do that,” he says, lying down beside her. He spreads a wing over her like she sometimes did for Eragon at night, back when they slept under the stars together. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I don't know what happened.”

“The bodies of living creatures sometimes do things we don't understand without consulting us. Useful things, our bodies, but you can't always trust them,” says Glaedr, thrumming. It's the gentlest sound a dragon can vocalize. Saphira feels it in her bones. “But for this, I think, I can explain. Have you noticed that the prey you catch will react differently to you based off of the individual? There are three routes they will choose from: they might try to claw back at you, or they might try to run, or they might stand still, frozen with terror and indecision. It's a generalization, but most things are. What happened to you just now was that. You were scared, and you did not know what to do, so you froze. It was not in any way your fault.”

“I wasn't scared,” says Saphira, but without heat. She feels tired and wrung-out despite having done nothing at all. “There was nothing to be scared of.”

“Poor thing,” says Glaedr with a great sigh. “You've let it fester. Is there no one you believe you can talk to? Your Rider?”

“No!” Saphira raises her head off her claws. “Don't tell him!”

“I would never,” says Glaedr. “There's a reason I had you clamp down on your link with him before we left. Well, the reason was not this specifically, but it's proving convenient now. Can I ask why you don't trust him with this?”

“Of course I trust him.”

“I worded that poorly. I should have asked why you would rather not share this part of yourself with him.”

“I don't know.”

“That's alright,” says Glaedr. “It's alright that you don't know.”

He does not say anything more. Eventually Saphira cannot stand the silence of her own thoughts and speaks up. “Why would I have been frightened? All that happened was that you asked me if... if I....”

After a pause Glaedr says, “We needn't talk about it if it's upsetting.”

“I want to understand,” says Saphira. “If it happened for something like that, just because we were talking, then it could happen at any time. If I fall in the middle of battle, or when Eragon needs to be strong for him, I could never live with myself.”

“There are so many things,” says Glaedr, “that should never have been your burden to bear.”

“But they are,” says Saphira.

“But they are. You could share with them your Rider if you wished, but you have your reasons for choosing not to. Relax; I will not press.”

“Why did you ask me if I wanted children?” Saphira says. “Did I do something to make you think that I....”

Glaedr cocks his head. “I should ask Oromis for permission first. The answer involves him. If he says no, it will be more difficult for me to explain, but he shouldn't have any reason to refuse this.”

“Oromis noticed?”

“I doubt it,” says Glaedr. “He hasn't spent as much time with you, and he doesn't notice these things. You'll see what I mean, I hope. A moment.”

Glaedr's Rider's agreement comes quickly enough. Glaedr gives a satisfied nod and then turns back to Saphira. “You're bonded to Eragon, so I expect you've noticed how he is around Arya.”

This line of discussion is neither what Saphira expected nor what she ever wants to hear spoken of. She hunches in on herself a little more.

Glaedr looks sympathetic. “Ah, you have. Well then, do you know what Eragon desires from her? Aside from her love and undivided attention.”

“Her body,” says Saphira sullenly. Those are not dreams she likes sharing with Eragon.

“A mercenary descriptor, but not inaccurate at its core. Yes, he wants her body. He finds her physical features pleasing, and so he wishes to bed her. It is not likely to happen, but a boy can dream,” says Glaedr. “What's important for you to know is that his feelings concerning her are very, very normal. Not only for humans, but for elves, for dwarfs, for most of the creatures in the world, and for dragons too.”

That shocks Saphira partway out of her dark mood. “ _You_ want to bed Arya too?”

Glaedr snorts, and then he starts laughing, his body shaking with the force of it. Saphira fails to see what's funny about this. She glowers at him for the entire solid minute he spends laughing. “No, no, I don't want to bed Arya. That is an Eragon-specific trait, as far as this discussion is concerned.” Oh, good. “But I have, in the past, wished to bed dragons I found attractive. Sometimes I imagined doing so even when I knew it would be unlikely to happen in reality.”

“Why would you _do_ that?”

“Because I enjoy it,” says Glaedr easily. “Generally, the act of... bedding is an entertaining one. Imagining it is less so, but it can also be pleasing in its own way.”

Saphira will eat an entire deer raw and unbutchered down to its hooves, but certain bodily interactions are still too unsettling to ponder. She hunkers her head down under her wings, adding another layer of shelter above her, and tries not to picture any of this.

“But exceptions exist, as they do with all rules. The first one I ever learned of was Oromis. We learned together, to be honest. It was unexpected for the both of us. No one ever really expects to to be an exception,” says Glaedr. “Oromis enjoys the act as much as anyone else, but he does not find people attractive. He has never once looked upon another person and thought to himself that he wanted to bed this one in particular. He's very much like you, Saphira.”

Something about that is oddly reassuring, though Saphira still feels unsettled. “How would you know that for certain? I've never met another dragon.”

“I don't know for certain,” says Glaedr. “It could be that I'm wrong. It is only that something in your mannerisms does remind me of him in that way.”

“You're a little bit wrong,” says Saphira, peeking an eye out from under her wings.

“My apologies,” says Glaedr gently. “Not only do you not find people attractive, but you also don't enjoy the thought of the act at all, do you?”

Saphira shakes her head.

“Please don't answer this if it upsets you, but I'd like to ask you something. If I gave to you an egg one day, and told you that it was yours to hatch and raise, would you immediately pass it back to me?”

Saphira considers that warily, but there's no distress after all at the thought of a tiny blue dragon playing jumping games across her talons. “No.”

“Can you see yourself laying that same egg?”

Saphira begins to, feels the crest of emotion rising up again and instantly stomps the image down. She buries herself under her wings again. “No. Never.”

“And there is nothing wrong with that,” says Glaedr with infectious calm. Saphira tries to time her breathing to his. “Thank you for answering. That's all I wanted to ask.”

“There's something wrong with me,” says Saphira.

“There is not,” says Glaedr. “You are a little bit unusual in this one aspect, but there is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken in any way. You are not any less of a dragon now than you were an hour ago.”

“I _have_ to lay eggs.”

“You do not,” says Glaedr. “Even were you a female dragon who enjoyed bedding male dragons, you would have no obligation to ever lay a single egg against your wishes. Anyone who ever attempts to tell you otherwise is wrong. You may step on them if you like; I am sure no one will miss them.”

“But....” Not even an objection, merely an inability to agree.

Glaedr begins thrumming again. “Saphira, who has told you that you must lay eggs?”

“I don't know,” says Saphira. She truly does not, but it is still an idea that has lodged itself somehow into her sense of self. She is the last female dragon, and so the survival of her species depends upon her. She _must_ lay eggs.

“Were they dragons?”

This she can answer with certainty. “No.”

“Then they have no stake in this, and you may disregard them for that reason.”

“ _You_ are a dragon, Glaedr. This affects you.”

“Saphira, am I you?”

She shakes her head.

“Then if I ever tell you that you must lay an egg, you may disregard me because my stake in this is not half as large as yours. You would also have blanket permission in that scenario to beat me about the head until I came to my senses.”

“But you do want me to lay an egg, even if you'll never tell me that I have to.”

Glaedr heaves another great sigh. “Saphira. I do not care if you lay an egg or not. If you do, I will be happy for you, I will congratulate you, I will welcome each of your children into this world as cherished family regardless of who you chose to father them. And if you do not, I will be happy for you, and I will congratulate you for having gained a better understanding of where your own happiness lies.”

“You don't care if the dragons return?”

“The dragons are dead,” states Glaedr flatly. Saphira is quiet. “Four or five individuals, among whom one is a female, _cannot_ revive a species. It cannot and should not be done. There will never again be dragons in Alagaësia no matter how or when or if the war ends. And, Saphira, hear me – even if, by becoming a mother, you could single-handedly save us all, you would _still_ be under no obligation to do so. If you did, you would be a hero, even moreso considering your particular feelings towards the matter. But if you did not then you would still be a person, and we do not punish people for not being heroes.

“Saphira, do you know the tale of Gallion and the storm?”

Glaedr tells it to her. It's rather long and winding, but the subplots are all individually exciting and action-packed, and Glaedr clearly has practice in telling it. It is, in its essence, about a flock of dragons led by a black dragon named Gallion. After their homeland is destroyed by a fire mountain's eruption, Gallion leads her flock on many harrowing adventures in search of a new place to call home. At the end, when they finally discover the perfect land, a great storm threatens to destroy it. Gallion flies into the storm alone even as her people try to stop her. She burns the clouds away with her fire, but in the process is struck by lightning and falls onto a mountain's peak, which impales her through the heart.

It's a terribly sad ending and it comes out of absolutely nowhere. Saphira is indignant. “What was the storm for? They'd already won! The happy ending was right there!”

“Be that as it may,” says Glaedr, clearly entertained by her reaction. “Would you have faulted Gallion if, instead of facing off against the storm, she agreed with her people to abandon that land and continue the search?”

Saphira is reminded that there was a point to Glaedr's telling the story. She's long since crept out from beneath her own wings and poked her head out from under Glaedr's wing, but now she retreats like a turtle back into Glaedr's golden shadow. “I am not Gallion.”

“I am merely asking,” says Glaedr innocently. “I never said you were.”

Saphira chooses not to dignify this with a response.

“Let us pretend the story goes down a different path,” says Glaedr. “Instead of Gallion insisting that she sacrifice herself against the storm and her people urging her not to, let us say that her people are the ones insisting that she battle the storm. In this version, Gallion attempts to refuse, for the quite understandable reason of not wishing to die, but she is swayed by all the voices arrayed against her. She flies reluctantly into the storm. She dies there, just as she did before, but now it is for the happiness of a flock who sent her alone into danger while they hid behind in safety.”

“That's awful,” says Saphira reluctantly. She knows what Glaedr is leading her towards, but that version of the story is legitimately awful. Gallion deserves better after all she went through to get them there.

“It is, isn't it,” says Glaedr.

Saphira blows out a shuddering breath. “It's really fine if I don't...?”

“Of course,” says Glaedr.

“And,” says Saphira, “even if I change my mind and say I do want eggs, and then a day later I change my mind again and tell you that I don't?” She asks this even though she knows now that the day will never come when she wants to go through the process of laying eggs of her own.

“I will be honest, I would likely be confused. But as long as you understand your own reasons I will support you.”

Saphira says, in as close to a whisper as mind-speech can come, “Alright.”

And, for now, things are.


End file.
